The air was sharp and crystalline, the kind of biting winter chill that nipped at Artemis Lovelace's nose and turned her breath into soft clouds of mist as she stepped down from the enchanted carriage beside her great-aunt. Snow crunched beneath her boots, muffled yet distinct, the sound swallowed into the silence of the wide German countryside. The Dawson farmhouse sat at the end of a winding drive, its windows glowing like golden beacons against the dark winter sky, promising warmth and sanctuary far removed from the shadowed chaos of Britain.
Beside her, Aurelia Lovelace stood regal and composed, though even she exhaled softly at the sight of the farmhouse, tension briefly easing from her sharp features. Her midnight blue cloak was fastened with a silver clasp in the shape of a crescent moon, a small nod to the ancient Lovelace crest, though her presence alone was enough to command respect. For all her practiced composure, Aurelia's silver hair glinted under the starlight, and her rare smile — faint but present — was not for the arriving guests, but for Artemis herself.
"A home should glow like this," Aurelia remarked, voice low, nearly lost beneath the wind. "True power doesn't always reside in marble halls and gilded ceilings. Sometimes, it's found in the quiet strength of a house where people feel safe enough to laugh."
Artemis glanced up at her great-aunt, momentarily startled by the rare insight — a glimpse beyond the cold, calculating mind that usually shaped Aurelia's words. She wasn't entirely sure what to say, so she only nodded, tucking the thought away like a treasure she wasn't quite ready to examine.
Ahead, the front door swung open with a creak, spilling warmth and golden light across the snow-dappled steps. Lavania Dawson, all elegance and warmth despite the rustic setting, stood at the threshold, her cheeks pink from the cold and her smile bright. A shawl of deep green was draped over her shoulders, though the shimmer of more expensive robes peeked out underneath. Even at an informal family gathering, Lavania couldn't help but look the part of a gracious hostess.
"Aurelia, Artemis!" Lavania's voice rang with genuine warmth, though there was an edge of relief in her eyes — relief that they had arrived safely, that there were still bright spots in the ever-encroaching darkness. "Welcome, welcome! Do come in before you turn into icicles. There's mulled wine — or cocoa if you'd rather."
A gust of warm air rushed out to meet them as Artemis stepped inside, the smell of woodsmoke and roasted meats wrapping around her like a comforting shawl. She shook the snow from her cloak, stamping her boots on the mat before hanging her things beside a row of coats already crowded on the rack.
Inside, the farmhouse was alive with light and sound. Rustic wooden beams had been enchanted to shimmer faintly, woven through with fairy lights that winked in and out like fireflies. Wreaths of holly and ivy hung in the archways, and house-elves scurried about, balancing trays of steaming cider, spiced nuts, and delicate German pastries. One particularly enthusiastic elf, wearing a knitted scarf that was too long for its tiny body, nearly toppled over when a younger guest darted past, cackling with mischievous glee.
From across the room, a familiar face beamed. Henry Bell — grinning, cheeks flushed from warmth and excitement — waved wildly at Artemis from where he stood by the hearth. His jumper was crooked, and there was a suspicious smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, but his bright, boyish enthusiasm was impossible not to return. Artemis raised a gloved hand in a small, shy wave, only for her greeting to be entirely swept aside as two forces of nature barrelled into her.
"You made it!" Rosaline Dawson, curls bouncing and eyes sparkling, threw herself into Artemis' arms with the kind of exuberant affection she'd never quite grown out of. At Eleven, Almost Twelve years old, Rosaline was already the perfect hostess-in-training, her posture straight even mid-hug, her voice a little too loud in her excitement to show Artemis all the games they'd prepared.
"Finally! We were starting to think you got lost," Eliza added, dramatically collapsing against her sister's side. Unlike Rosaline, Eliza's dark hair had already fallen from its carefully pinned braids, and her socks didn't match — one striped, one solid blue — which somehow fit her personality perfectly. She grinned up at Artemis, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "We were just about to make Henry act out a Dementor's Kiss in charades. You've got to help us."
Henry groaned loudly from across the room. "I swear, if I have to pretend to suck someone's soul out one more time, I'm hexing the game itself."
"Perfect spirit," Eliza cackled, already dragging Artemis toward the center of the room where a circle of younger cousins and guests waited for the next round of wizard charades to begin.
At the far side of the room, Edgar Dawson stood with a small circle of fellow healers, their conversation pitched low, but the furrow in Edgar's brow betrayed the weight of their discussion. His fingers curled and uncurled around the stem of his wine glass, the faintest tremor running through his hand each time someone mentioned casualties. Every so often, his gaze flickered toward the door — not in anticipation of a late guest, but with the tension of a man who had spent too many nights waiting for the knock that brought bad news.
Lavania Dawson moved through the room like a current of warm air, her smile bright enough to light every corner, her laughter too quick, her hands too busy. She swept from guest to guest, never still for more than a moment, adjusting candles that didn't need adjusting, conjuring fresh platters of food before the old ones were even half-empty. Her warmth, her grace — it was all a bit too polished, the way someone would polish silver that had already started to tarnish. Every perfected detail was her shield, warding off the cold breath of war just outside the windows.
Artemis, watching her with the sharp attention Aurelia had trained into her, saw it all. The mask slipping at the edges. The slight shine of sweat at Lavania's brow despite the coolness of the room. The desperate precision of her hospitality, as though if she could make this one night perfect, it might somehow stave off the inevitable.
The house-elves darted through the gathering, their tiny scarves fluttering as they balanced trays of mulled wine, cider, and German pastries dusted with enchanted sugar. One elf nearly collided with Eliza Dawson, who was tearing across the room with her boots still half-covered in snow, cackling as she lobbed a magically compacted snowball directly at Henry Bell's unsuspecting head.
Direct hit. The snowball exploded across Henry's jumper, sending Eliza into delighted shrieks of laughter.
"You're done for," Henry said, deadpan, though his twitching smile gave him away. "Sleep with one eye open."
"You have to catch me first!" Eliza whooped, vaulting over a footstool, nearly toppling one of Rosaline's carefully curated seating charts.
Rosaline, cheeks pink with frustration, scrambled to restore order. Even at this age, she had already taken on the mantle of perfect daughter and perfect hostess — the weight Lavania carried, absorbed by her eldest twin like a sponge.
"Honestly, Eliza!" Rosaline hissed, frantically shifting place cards back into order. "We can't have you treating this like some common room brawl!"
Before Artemis could interject with something witty, a sharp rap at the window froze the room for a fraction of a second. A snowy white owl perched delicately on the windowsill, its talons tapping once against the glass before a house-elf scampered forward to open it. The owl extended its leg with perfect decorum, and the elf retrieved the letter it carried — a plain envelope, no sigil save for a wax seal marked with the faint crest of the German Ministry.
Lavania's smile froze for a moment, the edges of her mouth too sharp when she took the envelope. Her fingers trembled just slightly as they curled around it, knuckles white against the parchment. She tucked it swiftly into her apron pocket, the motion smooth — practiced — but her smile came too quickly afterward, too bright, as though she'd plastered it on like a mask.
"Excuse me," she murmured, gliding past Artemis and Aurelia with the same polished grace she wore to diplomatic dinners, as though she could charm her way past a storm if her posture was elegant enough.
Artemis saw it. Aurelia saw it too, the faint twitch of her brow betraying her own sharpened instincts.
Neither said a word.
At the hearth, Edgar's conversation continued in hushed tones, though his attention drifted after his wife. The older healers spoke of dwindling potion supplies, of overburdened safehouses taking in more wounded than they could heal. Someone mentioned St. Mungo's being stretched thinner every day, the halls lined with more refugees than patients now. The war wasn't just creeping into their homes — it was flooding them, washing away the safety they'd once assumed was unshakable.
Artemis caught fragments — mentions of back-alley apothecaries, potion smugglers moving under the radar, healers arrested for treating so-called 'undesirable elements.' Edgar's hands shook faintly each time he poured another glass of wine, staining his fingertips pink with the faintest smear of spiced liquid. These weren't the hands of a man unused to blood, but the tremor came all the same.
Across the room, Alan Bell stood with a knot of diplomats, his voice pitched low but firm. The cracks were widening — between magical governments, between once-friendly nations, even within Britain itself. Safehouses like the Dawson estate were becoming rarer, their protections harder to maintain. Even here, across the sea, fear seeped into every conversation.
"It's the isolationism," Alan said quietly. "Ministries pulling in on themselves, refusing to cooperate. Everyone's afraid that the moment they reach out, they'll be the next target."
Aurelia, nursing a glass of dark wine, offered her own commentary with that same effortless sharpness that had made her a name in academic and political circles alike. "Fear isn't a strategy," she said, voice cool and measured. "It's a leash."
One of the German guests — a wizard with impeccably combed hair and eyes too quick to judge — offered a brittle smile. "Your views have always been… provocative, Lady Lovelace."
Aurelia's smile was thin and cold, sharp as broken glass. "Only to those who mistake discomfort for wisdom."
The man excused himself within moments.
Even here, miles from Britain's escalating nightmare, Aurelia's reputation preceded her. Some guests approached her cautiously, issuing half-sincere compliments about her books. Others gave her a wide berth, wary of the woman whose words could cut the veil between politeness and truth.
And still, Lavania poured wine. Still, she conjured more food than anyone could possibly eat. Still, her laughter rang too brightly above the gentle crackle of the hearth. Perfection was her shield, and tonight, she wielded it like a sword.
A loud burst of laughter interrupted their somber conversation as Rosaline, ever her mother's daughter, mirrored that energy — keeping everyone seated exactly where they should be, ensuring that each guest had precisely the right drink. Even the children were corralled into structured games. But Eliza — brilliant, brash, untamable Eliza — slipped between the cracks, swapping place cards, lobbing snowballs, and wrangling Henry into the world's most unhinged game of wizard charades.
"Dementor's Kiss, Henry!" Eliza crowed, as Henry stumbled around the room, limbs flailing, scarf pulled over his face like a particularly unfashionable wraith.
"Kill me," Henry muttered, collapsing into a heap at Artemis' feet.
For a moment, laughter filled the room again — pure, bright, untarnished.
The war, the politics, the tension — all of it faded into the background, just for that moment. Artemis leaned against Rosaline, cocoa warming her hands, the heat of the fire licking at her calves, and let herself breathe.
It wouldn't last. The letter in Lavania's pocket, the tremor in Edgar's hands, the watchful eyes of too-careful guests — they were all cracks in the fragile illusion.
But for now, there was laughter. There was warmth. There was Eliza's chaos and Rosaline's precision and Henry's long-suffering acceptance of both.
At one point, Rosaline dramatically announced a dance contest, pulling Artemis and Henry into the center of the room to much applause.
As the music played, Henry, ever the reluctant participant, bumbled his way through a few steps before resigning himself to simply spinning Artemis around while the crowd cheered. "I hope you appreciate my sacrifice," he muttered with a grin.
"Greatly," Artemis teased, twirling away.
Elsewhere, Edgar and his healer colleagues discussed what the next year might bring in terms of magical medical advancements, hoping for more resources to treat the wounded. Lavania, meanwhile, entertained some of the more politically inclined guests, who speculated on what alliances might shift in the coming months.
As the clock neared midnight, everyone gathered inside once more. Lavania and Alan counted down with excitement, Rosaline and Eliza bounced in anticipation, and Henry tried valiantly to blow a party horn properly. Aurelia stood by Artemis, her hand resting lightly on her great-niece's shoulder.
"Ten... nine... eight..."
The air hummed with magic and joy.
"Three... two... one... Happy New Year!"
Cheer erupted as fireworks burst outside, their shimmering light painting the sky in dazzling colors. Lavania twirled in delight, Alan pulled her into a kiss, and Aurelia laughed as she toasted to another year with old friends. Edgar Dawson and his healer colleagues raised their glasses, toasting not only to the new year but to hope for a better future.
Artemis watched it all, warmth blooming in her chest. Despite the looming shadows beyond this farmhouse, here, with these people, she felt safe. She felt hope.
And for now, that was enough.